


go ask her yourself, if you're so damn curious

by gonta



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, POV Third Person, Spoilers, Tension, what do i even tag this as i cant believe i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonta/pseuds/gonta
Summary: If there was one thing that Hoshi absolutely did not want to do, it was this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains ndrv3 spoilers! No deaths are spoiled. However, this does spoil reveals about a certain character up to Chapter 3, so please be aware!
> 
> once again, put me in the landfill and leave me to die there. this is based off of a prompt that addy (@shinguuji) gave me

Hoshi’s cigarettes had gone missing.

It was true that he rarely smoked anymore, but while the candy he was always seen with was a decent substitute, the urge was sometimes too strong. Keeping a pack around simultaneously reassured him and reminded him not to do it - he had the power to start doing it again, but did he really want to? 

It was one of the few privileges that he allowed himself, however small it was. But it wasn’t like he had told anyone about them, and he’d barely touched them himself since entering Gifted Prisoners’ Academy. So the fact that they had suddenly vanished from his drawer perturbed him, to say the least. Their being missing shouldn’t have mattered to him, but he did want them back. Since the MonoMono Machine only offered candy cigarettes (he had checked), he would have to look for them himself.

Great.

He swore that he’d scoured nearly every inch of the school - at least as far as its domed walls let him go, anyway. But still, he had no luck. It was fitting, in a way. The one time he was actively searching for something, he just couldn’t find it. There was probably some sort of poetic explanation for that that dripped with some kind of patronizing metaphor. Wasn’t that his life? But he brushed that aside, deciding to muse over it later. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

He’d also spoken to almost everyone in the school about the whereabouts of his lost cigarettes, but to no avail. No one had really seen them around, and no one seemed to particularly care. He supposed that he could understand that - they weren’t particularly important in the long stretch. But they were his, after all.

There was one person who he hadn’t questioned about their whereabouts.

But did he really want to ask him?

This was the question he was turning over and over in his mind as he stood outside a particular dorm room, hand raised slightly in a preemptive knock. He cast a doubtful gaze at the sign affixed to it, upon which a rudimentary drawing of its inhabitant was drawn. Even though it was a primitive picture, it still instilled a feeling of dread in the tennis player. 

Sure, Hoshi had great admiration for most of his classmates. They were all wonderfully talented people who had the smarts not to throw away their lives like he did his, and he respected them for that. It was also why he distanced himself so greatly from them, as to not labor them with his own emotional baggage. But he could never bring himself to like Korekiyo Shinguuji. The guy had the stench of a murderer about him, enough for Hoshi to infer that something was seriously sketchy. He also appeared to look down upon him (though everyone looked down upon his 3’5” frame) for his own crimes, which compounded the reviled feeling that made a home in Hoshi’s gut whenever he thought about him. 

The goddamn audacity that he had. Did he really think that he was being that opaque about his own crimes? That Hoshi, self-deprecating and detached as he was, wouldn’t figure it out? And yet he still had the will to look down upon him. Hoshi was completely alright with anyone else looking down upon him - he deserved it, after all. But someone whom had committed crimes of the same magnitude, if not worse, was another thing entirely. Hoshi seeked to atone for his wrongdoings, even though he knew he never could. Shinguuji did nothing of the sort, the self-righteous bastard.

The strangest part was that because of that potential trait, Shinguuji was probably the closest thing he had to an equal. They both knew that, and they both resented it. 

But he was the last potential thread that he had before he just gave up on his search and resigned to a life without any cigarettes. Steeling himself, Hoshi inhaled deeply and gave the door a firm knock. 

He was met with silence, and found himself standing there rather awkwardly for a good minute or so. Secretly hoping that the anthropologist wouldn’t answer, he knocked again. “Oi, Shinguuji?” he called, trying not to let his exasperation become evident in his voice. No one had seen Shinguuji around anywhere that day, so that meant that he could only be here. The seed of a hope planted itself in his mind: maybe he was just sleeping or something, so he could leave without even having to talk to him. But in the back of his consciousness, he knew that it couldn’t be that easy. After all, a killer like him could never have anything easy. 

He decided to knock one final time before going somewhere else. But he applied more force to this one than before, and almost jumped back when the door creaked open and gave way to a dimly lit space. Despite his better judgement saying that he should have just left right then and there, the room beckoned to him, somehow. Like it was inviting him in. 

Hoshi swallowed back his hesitation and entered the room. And in doing so, he made himself privy to one of the strangest things he had ever experienced. 

 

The dank, musty air hit him full in the face as soon as he crossed the threshold into Shinguuji’s room, so thick that he squinted his eyes as if it could make his eyes water. It was like an aged library on steroids, as if someone had been too overzealous with an air freshener designed to smell like old books. Most of the rooms were ever so slightly personalized to their resident, though not by much (that was what the talent labs were for, after all). But this particular room was piled with what could only be described as junk - haphazardly strewn artifacts and books, still open to the page where their reader had lost interest and moved on to something else. Hoshi found himself questioning what the reason for all of the items was - he could barely see ten feet into the room. 

Was Shinguuji even in here? Or was he just fumbling around in an empty room? Hoshi decided that he’d take three more steps into the room before leaving to wallow in his own regret as usual. The chain looped around his ankle clattered as he took his usual beleaguered strides. One. Two. Th-

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock?”

He should have expected this, but the sudden voice still made Hoshi’s eyes widen nonetheless - and then immediately shut in exasperation. “You shouldn’t leave the door open if you don’t want people bargin’ in, Shinguuji,” he grumbled, pushing his beanie up on his forehead. “I just wanted to-”

There came a sigh from the other side of the room, though it wasn’t an exasperated one. “Do come in, then,” Shinguuji said. Though every bone in Hoshi’s body told him to get up and leave right there, that his lousy pack of cigarettes wasn’t worth it, he somehow managed to move himself past the stacks of clutter and into the center of the room. 

The man himself was reclining on his bed, which was surprisingly empty compared to the rest of the room. He leaned back on the headboard, his aegean hair pinned behind his shoulders, his spindly legs awkwardly slack on the comforter. His eyes were closed, as if he were contemplating a deep truth. And between his slender fingers dangled a lit cigarette, the ash from it slowly crumbling off and dropping onto the floor. 

The tennis player’s eyes soon landed upon the incriminating object, and he cast his signature vague stare at it.  _ Those are mine _ was what he was thinking, but he decided to go about it in the normal roundabout way. “I wouldn't have taken you for someone who smoked,” he noted, voice just barely concealing contempt. 

Shinguuji lazily smiled at him, not offering any particular answer. “Oh, who might you be?” he asked, his voice possessing an unusual lilting tone to it. Unamused by the question and by the fact that he assumed he was playing dumb just to fuck with him, Hoshi rolled his eyes, and-

Wait. 

Wait just a second. 

Korekiyo Shinguuji had smiled at him. 

The same Korekiyo Shinguuji who normally wore a mask, and who was not the kind of person to smoke or to lie around on a bed or-

He blinked, and for the first time got a good look at the room’s occupant. He was used to seeing him around, but somehow he looked… different. And it wasn't just the lack of the mask. 

Shinguuji’s very being looked off, unsettlingly so. It was as if someone had taken off his skin and put it back on, but it was so awkwardly done that his face now possessed strange angles to it that appeared alien even to him. The bandages on his arms were unraveling and loose, exposing a myriad of aged scars underneath - in addition to several new-looking cuts and rope burns. Hoshi was no medical expert, but he knew a new wound when he saw one. Most ominous of all was the part of Shinguuji’s face normally concealed by the mask. The man’s lips were stained an almost bloody red. Seeing him with a mouth in the first place felt  _ wrong _ , wretchedly so. And when he stared at Hoshi with that new grin of his, he swore that humans did  _ not  _ have as many teeth as he saw. 

He felt a rattle down his spine, as if someone were hitting it with a mallet - at the sight of this man, who he could rely on to be contemptuous of him, made entirely alien. 

Maybe he was just seeing things. 

Hoshi coughed. “What are you trying to pull?” He muttered, though it was more of a demand than a query. He tried to keep eye contact with the anthropologist, if only so that he could avoid looking at literally every other part of him. 

He tittered, his features softening in the worst possible way. “Ah… you're Hoshi-kun, aren't you?” His name sounded too smooth on his tongue, devoid of the usual contempt that commonly plagued it. It also seemed slightly higher, though maybe it was just the musty smell of the room that was getting to Hoshi’s head. Shinguuji placed a hand to his mouth in a manner that seemed far too poised. “You'll have to forgive me. I don't believe we've met.”

It was this that caused Hoshi to take a small step backwards, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. His poker face was still fully kept up, but a feeling of dread that he had not felt for quite some time had begun to worm its way into his stomach. “What are you going on about, Shinguuji? I just saw you yesterday.” He shook his head, trying to let his exasperation mask his discomfort. “Forget this. I'm-” 

Shinguuji twirled the cigarette between his fingers, and let out another sigh. “Leaving already? That's a pity. Korekiyo has told me so much about you, I was looking forward to meeting you.”

It was at that point when he knew. Whoever this was,  _ what _ ever it was… the thing staring at him was in no way, shape, or form Korekiyo Shinguuji. 

There was one last potential thread of sanity, and Hoshi tried to grasp it. He attempted to let his typically bemused look return to his gestures. “Hmph. This is some kind of prank, innit? You're going to try and get me to spill something about myself out of confusion, and then you'll snap back to normal as if nothing happened. I know your tricks.”

But Shinguuji - or the person who he was - pouted in a way entirely unbefitting of his character. “I don't have any tricks, and I don't need you to tell me anything. I've said it already. Korekiyo has told me a lot of things about you, Hoshi-kun.”

The feeling that settled over him was a visceral, creeping sense of detachment. To look into the face of someone you know and to see nothing familiar about it - it's one of the most terrifying things one could imagine. The sensation in his stomach had spread throughout his entire body. 

It was with a wavering undertone to his normal manly brogues that Hoshi managed to choke out a question. 

“Who… are you?” 

The figure’s eyes widened. “Oh! I haven't introduced myself, have I? I should get around to that… I'll give you three guesses. Just know that I'm someone important.”

The tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. Maybe there was a possibility that Shinguuji was just doing this to make him look like an idiot after all. The only person who he could think of was the sister that the anthropologist often referenced, but he knew that was the answer that he wanted. Maybe, if he got lucky, he would make him exasperated enough to stop this tirade. 

It was worth a shot, even if he didn't believe it for a second. 

“You're… his mother.”

“Haha, no. Close, though!” 

“A mentor?”

“No!”

“A… girlfriend…?”

But the other person started to laugh that horrible, pealing laugh again, worse even than Shinguuji’s normal cackle. And any hope that he once had was forcibly ripped from his body. 

“...his sister,” he muttered, barely audible. The other smiled once again. 

“That's right! You got it on the fourth try, though. Sorry about that.” 

To hear someone - no, some _ thing _ \- like that addressing him so casually was enough to make his skin crawl. It was almost as if they didn't know that he was a killer, despite the fact that it was clear that they did. For the first time in many, many years, Ryoma Hoshi began to feel a rattling sensation that could only be called fear. 

But the figure in Shinguuji’s body seemed oblivious to his feelings, to his tightly clenched palms. They placed a finger to their chin. “Korekiyo has told me so much about you,” they reiterated, as if the interruption to their spiel had never happened. “Like how you don't like him, and how he doesn't like you. But really, he's a very nice boy.” 

Hoshi made the mistake of looking them right in the eye again. 

_ “He's done so much for me,” _ they said, and that terrifying, lazy smile was alight on their face once again. Hoshi never thought that he would say this, but he would have given anything to have pretentious, sniveling Shinguuji back again. 

His muscles tightened, and he glanced away from whatever was inhabiting the anthropologist’s body at the moment. “Keep the cigarettes. I don't have to deal with this. I'm out.” He turned his back, and was about to head out the door as fast as was humanly possible, when he felt something small hit him in the back with a  _ whap _ . Glancing down at the floor, his eyes fell upon the pack of cigarettes. 

Shinguuji yawned. “You can have them back, I just wanted to try them. It's liberating, not having to worry about ruining your lungs when you're dead.”

Hoshi quickly scooped up the cigarettes, still facing the other way as to not betray the fact that his face dripped with sweat. He needed to get out of there. It was pathetic, for a killer like him to feel this way, especially towards another killer. But this was another ball game entirely. 

He quickly walked towards the door, and was about to jiggle the handle open, when  _ they _ called again. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Hoshi-kun?” 

His hand froze. “...What.” was all he could say. 

“You know, you meet a lot of interesting people in the afterlife. Loooots of people. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that…” they paused, and he could almost hear the smile dripping from their voice. “That  _ she _ misses you too, Hoshi-kun.”

Ryoma Hoshi had never run so fast in his entire life as he had in that moment. 

 

The door of his dorm slammed behind him with a fervor that many would not suspect the short boy to be capable of. With shaking hands, he swung the lock into place and collapsed on his bed, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was hammering like a jackhammer in his chest. It was a crawling feeling, one that made it painfully clear that he had stumbled across something not meant for mortal eyes. Especially not ones as dishonorable as his. 

Or, maybe, it was. Because he was the only one who deserved to shoulder the burden of knowing… whatever that was. 

The pack of cigarettes weighed heavily in his jacket pocket, and he fished them out with one clumsy hand. For a moment, he stared at the box, turning it over and letting its logo catch the light. Trying to let the rattle of the cigarettes in their container drown out the sound and fury echoing in his own head. 

Hoshi chain-smoked his way through the entire box that night, eleven cigarettes completely burnt to ashy stubs that littered the barren floor. 

It was painfully obvious to him that he did not even have control over that. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...Yikes.
> 
> idk if i wrote "neesan" wrong but if i did you can chalk that up to the lack of reliable translations of the ch3 trial
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please be sure to leave a comment and/or kudos! Thank you so much :)


End file.
